


Things They Both Know

by Leseparatist



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leseparatist/pseuds/Leseparatist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen Rutherford has grown out of crushes since his days in the Kinloch Hold, but he can't quite get Bethany Hawke out of his mind.</p><p>Bethany Hawke thinks she is being pragmatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things They Both Know

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent due to unequal status, but I tried to indicate that regardless of how Cullen perceives the situation, Bethany is consenting (and capable of consenting) throughout.
> 
> An additional trigger warning at the end because it constitutes a major spoiler.

 

 

THINGS THEY KNOW

 

 

Things they both know: Knight-Captain Cullen Rurtherford could get into more trouble for fucking Bethany Hawke than for killing her.

 

*~*

 

During his time in the Kinloch Hold, Cullen watched over more Harrowings than he cares to remember. He remembers every failed one, though. All three of them. Two boys, one girl, taken over. They were no longer people, at that point, they were _evil_ , soulless, gone, but they still looked the same or almost the same when he cut them down, unthinking but not unfeeling. Afterwards his teeth chattered and he could not sleep, and the Knight-Commander told him he had done good but only lyrium could help him calm down. They were dead before his sword fell, but they weren’t dead when the Harrowing started.

 

They make him keep watch over Bethany Hawke during her Harrowing, and he accepts the responsibility. He observes her carefully for signs of distress and prays for her journey to be safe, and when she emerges on the other side an official circle mage, he calls a senior enchanter in and then excuses himself and does his best to avoid her for a long time after.

 

*~*

 

“Which one would you give it to?” asks Thiall over breakfast, and Cullen bristles.

 

“I’m perfectly sure I don’t know what you mean,” he lies. “Would you care to explain?”

 

Thiall would not, of course. But Cullen is no fool. He knows what goes under the cover of darkness, some of it at least. Mages _usually_ prefer to keep their own company, and templars would do well to keep theirs, but that is not always the case. Many a good templar has been led astray by a mage whose supposed lust was but a ruse calculated to get a hold of their phylactery. Cullen disbelieves rumours, but if there was ever proof of fraternisation he would not hesitate to bring it to the Knight-Commander. Such things must not be tolerated, lives being at stake.

 

That said, he is always aware of where Enchanter Bethany sits, watching her out of the corner of his eye, if only for the purpose of steering clear.

 

*~*

 

Sometimes Cullen wakes up in the middle of his nightmare and it takes him a while to remember that he is in Kirkwall, that Uldred is dead and Cullen has left the Circle Tower never to return.

 

Knight-Commander Meredith encouraged him to confide in her when the dreams came; she shook her head, a picture of compassion and gave him more lyrium. She asked him about his thoughts on apostates, maleficar and blood mages. She told him about her sister. “Better she’d died in her Harrowing,” she said, her voice sharp like a sword. “But people cannot be trusted to make wise choices where blood is concerned,” she adds, “neither blood magic nor blood relations.” She told him families were best left behind and he nodded, though hers was of course dead, and his he could barely remember some days, his years old memories faded and pale.

 

*~*

 

Things they both know: when he was young, Cullen had a crush on Solona Amell, Bethany’s cousin, the Hero of Ferelden.

 

Things they both know: he has outgrown crushes.

 

*~*

 

The first time they fuck is an accident on his part, and may well have been premeditated on hers. He wouldn’t put it past her; he has the impression that she usually thinks more about the far-reaching implications of her actions than she lets on.

 

Arishok is dead, and the flames are being put out by troops of elemental mages when Cullen retires to his private quarters in the Gallows; he saw the healers tend to the wounded, but decided against waiting his turn. Most of the blood on him is not his anyway. He is too wound up to go to sleep yet though, as the battle continues to flash before his eyes: a house set on fire by an angry Saarebas, a Sten charging at full speed, cries of pain and shrieks of fury. He saw a friend die today, but that is the nature of what they do. He had seen many others die, and will see more before his own time comes, sooner rather than later.

 

He paces the length of his room before sitting down and finally taking off his armour. It is tiresome work without help, but he doesn’t know whether the servants are around, and he would rather not find out if they are gone. The metal parts end up disassembled on the floor and he puts on some clean clothes, sparing only a thought to the fact that he should probably bathe before doing so but never following through. Instead, he decides to clean his armour before it rusts and starts looking around for his soft leather rags, kept at hand precisely for such occasions.

 

There is a knock at the door, and when he opens it, Enchanter Bethany is standing outside. She looks as tired as he feels but still he cannot help noticing other things about her. The line of her hip, barely obscured by her robes, her neck and her lips.

 

“Knight-Captain,” she says, in a voice that hesitates slightly on his rank, “I’ve been sent here to see if you need any healing.”

 

He takes a step back, almost automatically, and she enters without asking his leave. He feels momentarily annoyed. He permits no mages in his quarters, not unless absolutely necessary, and her presence is the opposite of that.

 

“I’m fine,” he says curtly, but his tone does not seem to deter her. She focuses on him intently, steps close enough that he could stretch out his hand and touch her.

 

“I’m good with healing spells,” she says mildly, and he grows angrier at that.

“I’ve already told you I don’t need any spells,” he says.

 

“Knight-Captain, you’re bleeding,” she replies, stubbornly. “Let me help and then I’ll leave you be.”

 

He lets her. She steps closer; her magic on him feels mild, weak even, and he realises she must have extended herself before coming here, healed others before him. Her fingers move closer to his face—he must have a cut there that he didn’t even notice—and as soon as she is done, he grabs her hand.

 

She doesn’t tug it back, just goes completely still, her breathing the loudest sound in the room.

 

“I should go back,” she says.

 

“Then go,” he says, but keeps hold of her still.

 

“Unless you’d rather I stayed,” she adds, her breathing growing more shallow now, her eyes open wide, her gaze calculating. He feels his actions are unexpected but not unwelcome, and so he transgresses further and lets go of her wrist only to touch the back of her neck. She remains still, waiting for his answer. “I could stay a while longer,” she whispers and then cranes her neck to lay a light kiss on the skin of his arm. A kiss like a promise, a kiss like a payment.

 

A better man—a better templar—might have resisted longer, but he is not that templar. He bolts the door and then pushes her against it, his weight pinning her as his lips find hers, his tongue pressing entry, any protest she might have raised swallowed before she could utter it. He tears at her robe insistently, finding a way under it, cupping one of her breasts. Her nipple is hard like a pebble and he wishes he could suck on it, or even see it properly, but that must be left for another time.

 

Although there must be no other time.

 

She is kissing him back, though, moving ever so slightly against him, opening her legs invitingly. Her hands fly to the flaps of his breeches and she seems no less intent than he is, but he doubts that impression: he had thought about this too many times for her to be anywhere as intent as he is.

 

She is eager enough though; wet and hot when his fingers move between her legs, buckling against his knuckles as he slips them inside and then withdraws. He asks no permission before guiding his cock in and beginning to thrust, slowly at first and then faster.

 

He thinks she comes before him, but he is not quite sure. When they are through, she adjusts her clothes and leaves without another word.

 

*~*

 

Things they both know: there was always going to be another time.

 

*~*

 

Cullen made a point of not seeking her out in the aftermath. Another test of resilience on his part, and one he passed. He was busy enough as it was anyway, as the Knight-Commander spent more and more time locked up in her office, scribbling obsessively, or questioning templars one by one, or running the city when she should have been running the Order. There had to be a reason for that, but it left him overburdened with the day-to-day, while problems mounted. There was something afoot in the ranks, some problems brewing among the mages, dissent among the templars, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the source.

 

But another encounter—a private one—was inevitable, surely. Not only did they sit for their meals in one hall, roam the same corridors, frequent the same library, but she was also rising in influence if not in official hierarchy, both through her own growing respect from her betters and her peers and through her sister’s importance as the Champion of Kirkwall. Mages may be discouraged from maintaining family ties, but she was still a Hawke.

 

*~*

 

Bethany steps into his office late one evening, at an hour when he should be praying or readying for sleep, not sitting behind his desk, trying to make columns of numbers match. She is dressed demurely, her robe almost enough to obscure her figure, her posture the picture of deference.

 

“May I trouble your ear for a moment, Knight-Captain?” she asks.

 

Any distraction seems welcome at the moment, and her more than most, even as he scolds himself for the weakness.

 

“What is the matter, Enchanter Bethany?”

 

The matter is grave, if she is to be believed. She suggests that a mage apprentice is being bullied—ill-used, perhaps—by a templar, or maybe more than one templar.

 

“She was bold before, Knight-Captain,” she says. “Easy to laugh, even in our circumstances. Now she jumps up at shadows.”

 

“Give me the names of persons involved—suspected of involvement,” he says. “The mage and the templars you are accusing.”

 

She is hesitant. There could be retribution, for the girl and for her both. She is only raising the issue to make sure the girl is not suddenly put through an ill-advised premature Harrowing once the templars grow bored. “We know how to protect one of our own, once we know what is happening,” she says. “I’m only asking as the Enchanter entrusted with the training of apprentices that you perhaps speak to me before any decision about a Harrowing is made.”

 

He is not so easily discouraged from pursuing a lead. “What you speak of is a serious matter. If you are wrong, the girl’s state may well be attributed to her playing with things far beyond her control. And if you are not wrong—templars doing harm to mages could well lead such a mage to temptation. Make her turn to blood magic.”

 

She bites her lip, clearly torn, uncertain.

 

“Would it help if I promised an impartial investigation before any steps are taken?” he asks, finally getting up from behind the desk. He should feel tired, he did before, but her presence seems to have given him new reserves of strength. His heartbeat speeds up.

 

She turns her head to the side as he steps closer. She needn’t say anything more—he knows she does not believe any investigation coming from his quarters could be impartial. She might be right—he has little trust in mages and their games—but even less tolerance for safety being endangered by some templars’ wantonness.

 

Except, obviously, his own.

 

“Why did you come to _me_ then?” he asks. “Why not Knight-Commander?”

 

The answer is simple enough.

 

“Because I think you hoped to have some hold over me,” he says. “Or at least to bargain.”

 

“I would never presume to blackmail you, Knight-Captain,” she replies, after a moment.

 

“I certainly hope not,” he says, and kisses her.

 

She knows better than to feign surprise, and the kiss she gives him in return feels decisive and insistent. With her help, he makes quick work of her robe and chemise, and then turns his attention to her breasts, revealed this time, soft and round, the skin a shade paler than that of her hands or face.

 

He slowly glides his hands along her sides from the waist up and then cups both her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples. He watches their shape change slightly, the skin drawing tighter. Bethany bites her lip to prevent a gasp from escaping.

 

“Or is this what you hoped for?” he asks, quietly, and she nods, almost imperceptibly.

 

“This,” she replies, no longer playing coy. “And more. If you’ll permit, Knight-Captain.”

 

It is his turn to gasp, her deference a sudden source of pleasure. He steps closer, his clothed body brushing against her skin. He can feel her breasts even through the layers of his clothing as he presses her closer, one of his hands on her buttocks.

 

“Would you like me to turn around?” she asks, and for a second he is not sure what she is referring to, but a look around the room tells him that she might mean to bend against the desk.

 

“Certainly,” he responds, and unlaces his breeches, never taking them off. He finds that the contrast between her nakedness and his own clothes makes him feel more in control, a heady, powerful feeling.

 

She leans over the desk, using her hands for support, gripping the wood, her breasts hanging forward now, their shape changed from their own weight. He strokes her ass before nudging her legs further apart and touching her cunt with his hand.

 

She is slightly wet already. He begins tentatively, less urgent than the previous time, more mindful of her comfort, despite himself. She meets his thrusts, however, her quiet noises serving as clear encouragement and he soon speeds up, pushes inside her more forcefully; his left hand cups her breast softly, carefully, and then he reaches between her legs with his other hand.

 

“Oh yes, please,” she says breathlessly, and so he makes to stroke the cleft between her legs, the small hardened nub of flesh hidden there. He is hesitant at first but if her buckling is any indication, he is on the right track; he lets his strokes become more decisive as her breathing grows more shallow.

 

Finally she makes a louder gasp, her legs shaking, her cunt pulsing around him, and he speeds up even more then, pushing her harder against the desk, his hand gripping her breast stronger. He muffles his own gasp against her shoulder as he comes inside her.

 

He has little doubt he will do as she asked. Even less that she will give him the names he’d asked her for.

 

*~*

 

Things they both know: there are no real secrets in the Gallows, or none that survive that way very long, unless either the Knight-Commander or the First Enchanter wishes them to do so.

 

*~*

 

After the second time, they fall into a tentative routine of clandestine meetings, mostly in his office, although they arrange an outing or two over time. A year goes by before Cullen knows it, its passage marked by Knight-Commander’s increasing reliance on him, and by the growing unease in the Circle. First Enchanter Orsino is up to Maker knows what, abominations seem to sprout from the very air, and Cullen cannot think of a way to guard the city from a danger whose source is unknown to him.

 

A new nightmare appears, where it is Bethany who becomes possessed and he must do what needs to be done. And then another one, where he is unable to do so.

 

*~*

 

At first, Bethany excused herself by thinking that she was being smart. The Circle might not have been as bad as she’d always been told, but there were some templars around one didn’t want to meet in a dark corridor. Their eyes were wide with lyrium, and their hands tended to wander.

 

She was merely taking out insurance.

 

Later, she blamed her actions on grief after her mother’s death. One made various mistakes in the aftermath of tragedy; such was the way of things.

 

It took her more than a year of illicit meetings, stolen glances and notes burnt after reading to come to the conclusion that she had made the grave mistake of developing feelings. Her sister would laugh so hard.

 

*~*

 

The occasion for the realisation is less than ideal. He first invites her to come by his office but when she does, slightly aroused even before crossing the threshold, as she often is, he greets her in a sullen and distrustful mood.

 

“Did anyone see you?” he asks, as though the importance of their secrecy was lost on her. Bethany has as much to lose as him, more really. They might turn him out of the order. They could—unlikely, but not impossible—take her life.

 

His surliness does not prevent his desire; with the slightest of hesitations, he tells her to kneel on the floor and take him in her mouth, the supposed harshness of the request countered by the pillow he offers her for her knees.

 

It is not the first time she’s had sex this way, but the first time she’s done it like this with him, and it feels different. She finds herself pleased when his breathing hitches, she is flushed with arousal, her cunt pulsing ever so slightly, and when she shifts lightly, she feels the wetness gathering between her legs.

But it is not this reaction that clues her in, she is no longer young enough to confuse lust with affection. It is later, after he has come, when he acts strangely contrite and unsure, apparently wandering about the proper etiquette in the aftermath, that she feels such a wave of warmth looking at him.

 

He fingers her until she comes too, in the end, his touch gentle and tender, and Bethany knows that she is in much more trouble than she’d previously thought.

 

*~*

 

When she got kidnapped, her biggest surprise was that it was her sister they wanted to screw with.

 

*~*

 

Cullen behaves differently after her return; he grows more paranoid, is less inclined to take risks and thus, to see her. They still sneak around, of course, but the regularity of their meetings is gone never to return. When they do meet, she catches his hands shake more than once; when she asks him about it, he only grows grim and sends her away even though they’d not fucked yet, like a child denied supper, though she is not quite sure who is being punished that way.

 

“Would you tell me if you knew about blood mages in the ranks?” he asks her once, catching her by surprise.

 

“Blood mages are a danger to us all,” she replies, primly. “And to the children in particular,” she adds, in a more conciliatory voice.

 

“Is that a yes?” he insists, and she nods.

 

“Of course. I would not hide evidence of such corruption, nor anyone I know.”

 

He laughs. “Orsino would,” he says. “You can deny it, you can even believe yourself, but he would. He has. I just need more proof, that’s all.”

 

A few weeks later the Chantry explodes, the right of annulment is invoked, and they find themselves on opposing sides.

 

Perhaps they’d been on opposing sides far longer than she would have liked to believe.

 

*~*

 

Her sister—the Viscountess, she supposes everyone calls her now—comes to see her in the infirmary a week after the attack and the subsequent uprising. Meredith and Orsino are dead; she guesses that would put Cullen in charge of everything her sister is not in charge of.

 

Marian looks tired and unhappy, but then again, having sheltered the madman whose actions prompted the massacre would probably do that to you.

 

“I thought a week of bed rest was a tad excessive for a flesh wound, Bethany,” Marian says, half-jokingly. Bethany shrugs.

 

“There are a few things I need to ask you to do,” she says. “First of all, I need to get my phylactery back.”

 

Marian smiles so widely Bethany actually wants to hug her.

 

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says. “Consider it done. By the way, the acting Knight-Commander has been asking about you, a lot. Is there something I should know, sister? And by that I mean, do I need to make his body disappear after I’m done with him, to hide the signs of torture?”

 

Bethany shakes her head. “Now that,” she says, “is just ridiculous. But I would watch him carefully if I were you. I think he’s a bit unstable. I suspect he’s been… irregular with his lyrium.”

 

Oh, how she suspects. There is no other explanation, she knows as much now.

 

“So, keeping him away from you for now.”

 

“I guess so, that might be best.”

 

*~*

 

Things Bethany knows: lyrium, in the doses taken by templars, is a strong contraceptive agent.

 

*~*

 

When she leaves Kirkwall, some ten weeks later, she is not showing yet, and if Marian has her suspicions, she doesn’t voice them. Nonetheless, she asks Fenris to accompany Bethany across the Free Marches, which is suggestive in itself. There’s been a lot of discussion about places she could go, and in the end what prevails is Merrill’s offer of asking for asylum among a Dalish clan—not Merrill’s clan, for obvious reasons, but a clan Merrill is in contact with, intermittently.

 

It feels like a temporary solution, but for now, it is the best option she can think of, should he look for her.

 

She does not think he will.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional trigger warning: Unplanned pregnancy.
> 
>  
> 
> Additional explanations:
> 
> The headcanon for this fic is basically that as far as Bethany knows, the lyrium templars take is strong enough to render them infertile. Cullen assumes she's taking precautions. 
> 
> Bethany leaves once she knows she's pregnant because she is not about to have her baby either taken away from her or put into a Circle, and she thinks Cullen would insist on the latter.
> 
> I assume at some point during DA:I Hawke convinces her sister to come clean and they live happily ever after though. (Um, happy Valentine's Day?)


End file.
